APPARENTLY  THERE  WAS  NOBODY 
AT  HOME 


'Speaking  of 
Operations—" 

By 

Irvin  S.  Cobb 

!  , 

Author  of 
"Back  Home"  "Europe  Revised"  Etc.,  Etc. 

Illustrations  by  TONY  SARG 


New  York 
George  H.  Doran  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1915, 
BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1915. 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


"Speaking  of  Operations 


RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 
To  Two  CLASSES: 

THOSE  WHO  HAVE  ALREADY  BEEN  OPERATED  ON 
THOSE  WHO  HAVE  NOT  YET  BEEN  OPERATED  ON 


*3 


o 


u 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


CONTENTS 


Mainly  My  Own 


"Speaking  of  Operations — 


5  5 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Apparently  There  Was  Nobody  at  Home 

Frontispiece 
PAGE 

He  Regarded  It  as  a  Suit  of  Clothes,  But  I 
Knew  Better 22 

In  Which  I  Assumed  All  Responsibility  for 
What  Was  to  Take  Place  -    36 

I  Wished  to  Show  How  Utterly  Indifferent 
I  Was 50 


;  'Speaking  of  Operations^ 


NOW  that  the  last  belated  bill  for  ser 
vices  professionally  rendered  has 
been  properly  paid  and  properly 
receipted;  now  that  the  memory  of  the 
event,  like  the  mark  of  the  stitches,  has 
faded  out  from  a  vivid  red  to  a  becoming 
pink  shade;  now  that  I  pass  a  display  of 
adhesive  tape  in  a  drug-store  window  with 
out  flinching — I  sit  me  down  to  write  a 
little  piece  about  a  certain  matter — a  small 
thing,  but  mine  own — to  wit,  That  Opera 
tion. 

For  years  I  have  noticed  that  persons 
who  underwent  pruning  or  remodeling  at 
the  hands  of  a  duly  qualified  surgeon,  and 
survived,  like  to  talk  about  it  afterward. 
In  the  event  of  their  not  surviving  I  have 
no  doubt  they  still  liked  to  talk  about  it, 
but  in  a  different  locality.  Of  all  the 
readily  available  topics  for  use,  whether 
among  friends  or  among  strangers,  an  op 
eration  seems  to  be  the  handiest  and  most 
dependable.  It  beats  the  Tariff,  or  Roose 
velt,  or  Bryan,  or  when  this  war  is  going 
to  end,  if  ever,  if  you  are  a  man  talking  to 

[in 


"Speaking,  of  Operations — 5 

other  men;  and  it  is  more  exciting  even 
than  the  question  of  how  Mrs.  Vernon 
Castle  will  wear  her  hair  this  season,  if 
you  are  a  woman  talking  to  other  women. 
,^  For  mixed  companies  a  whale  is  one  of 
the  best  and  the  easiest  things  to  talk  about 
that  I  know  of.  In  regard  to  whales  and 
their  peculiarities  you  can  make  almost  any 
assertion  without  fear  of  successful  contra 
diction.  Nobody  ever  knows  any  more 
about  them  than  you  do.  You  are  not 
hampered  by  facts.  If  someone  mentions 
the  blubber  of  the  whale  and  you  chime 
in  and  say  it  may  be  noticed  for  miles  on 
a  still  day  when  the  large  but  emotional 
creature  has  been  moved  to  tears  by  some 
great  sorrow  coming  into  its  life,  every 
body  is  bound  to  accept  the  statement.  For 
after  all  how  few  among  us  really  know 
whether  a  distressed  whale  sobs  aloud  or 
does  so  under  its  breath?  Who,  with  any 
certainty,  can  tell  whether  a  mother  whale 
hatches  her  own  egg  her  own  self  or  leaves 
it  on  the  sheltered  bosom  of  a  fjord  to  be 
incubated  by  the  gentle  warmth  of  the  mid 
night  sun?  The  possibilities  of  the  propo- 
[12] 


'  ^Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

sition  for  purposes  of  informal  debate,  pro 
and  con,  are  apparent  at  a  glance. 

The  weather,  of  course,  helps  out  amaz 
ingly  when  you  are  meeting  people  for 
the  first  time,  because  there  is  nearly  al 
ways  more  or  less  weather  going  on  some 
where  and  practically  everybody  has  ideas 
about  it.  The  human  breakfast  is  also  a 
wonderfully  good  topic  to  start  up  during 
one  of  those  lulls.  Try  it  yourself  the  next 
time  the  conversation  seems  to  drag.  Just 
speak  up  in  an  offhand  kind  of  way  and 
.say  that  you  never  care  much  about  break 
fast — a  slice  of  toast  and  a  cup  of  weak  tea 
start  you  off  properly  for  doing  a  hard  day's 
work.  You  will  be  surprised  to  note  how 
things  liven  up  and  how  eagerly  all  present 
join  in.  The  lady  on  your  left  feels  that 
you  should  know  she  always  takes  two 
lumps  of  sugar  and  nearly  half  cream,  be 
cause  she  simply  cannot  abide  hot  milk,  no 
matter  what  the  doctors  say.  The  gentle 
man  on  your  right  will  be  moved  to  con 
fess  he  likes  his  eggs  boiled  for  exactly 
three  minutes,  no  more  and  no  less.  Buck 
wheat  cakes  and  sausage  ftud  a  champion 
[13] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — 5  r 

and  oatmeal  rarely  lacks  a  warm  defender. 

But  after  all,  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
the  king  of  all  topics  is  operations.  Sooner 
or  later,  wherever  two  or  more  are  gath 
ered  together  it  is  reasonably  certain  that 
somebody  will  bring  up  an  operation. 

Until  I  passed  through  the  experience  of 
being  operated  on  myself,  I  never  really 
realized  what  a  precious  conversational 
boon  the  subject  is,  and  how  great  a  part 
it  plays  in  our  intercourse  with  our  fellow 
beings  on  this  planet.  To  the  teller  it  is 
enormously  interesting,  for  he  is  not  only 
the  hero  of  the  tale  but  the  rest  of  the  cast 
and  the  stage  setting  as  well — the  whole 
show,  as  they  say;  and  if  the  listener  has 
had  a  similar  experience — and  who  is  there 
among  us  in  these  days  that  has  not  taken 
a  nap  'neath  the  shade  of  the  old  ether 
cone? — it  acquires  a  doubled  value. 

"Speaking  of  operations  "  you  say, 

just  like  that,  even  though  nobody  present 
has  spoken  of  them;  and  then  you  are  off, 
with  your  new  acquaintance  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair,  or  hers  as  the  case  may 
be  and  so  frequently  is,  with  hands  clutched 
[14] 


4  '  Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

in  polite  but  painful  restraint,  gills  work 
ing  up  and  down  with  impatience,  eyes 
brightened  with  desire,  tongue  hung  in  the 
middle,  waiting  for  you  to  pause  to  catch 
your  breath,  so  that  he  or  she  may  break 
i  in  with  a  few  personal  recollections  along 
the  same  line.  From  a  mere  conversation 
it  resolves  itself  into  a  symptom  symposium, 
and  a  perfectly  splendid  time  is  had  by 
all. 

^Tf  an  operation  is  such  a  good  thing  to 
talk  about,  why  isn't  it  a  good  thing  to  write 
about,  too?  That  is  what  I  wish  to  know. 
Besides,  I  need  the  money.  Verily,  one  al 
ways  needs  the  money  when  one  has  but 
recently  escaped  from  the  ministering 
clutches  of  the  modern  hospital.  There 
fore  I  write. 

It  all  dates  back  to  the  fair,  bright  morn 
ing  when  I  went  to  call  on  a  prominent 
practitioner  here  in  New  York,  whom  I 
shall  denominate  as  Doctor  X.  I  had  a 
pain.  I  had  had  it  for  days.  It  was  not 
a  dependable,  locatable  pain,  such  as  a 
tummyache  or  a  toothache  is,  which  you 
can  put  your  hand  on;  but  an  indefinite, 
[15] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — 5 

unsettled,  undecided  kind  of  pain,  which 
went  wandering  about  from  place  to  place 
inside  of  me  like  a  strange  ghost  lost  in 
Cudjo's  Cave.  I  never  knew  until  then 
what  the  personal  sensations  of  a  haunted 
house  are.  If  only  the  measly  thing  could 
have  made  up  its  mind  to  settle  down  some 
where  and  start  light  housekeeping  I  think 
I  should  have  been  better  satisfied.  I  never 
had  such  an  uneasy  tenant.  Alongside  of 
it  a  woman  with  the  moving  fever  would 
be  comparatively  a  fixed  and  stationary 
object. 

Having  always,  therefore,  enjoyed  per 
fectly  riotous  and  absolutely  unbridled 
health,  never  feeling  weak  and  distressed 
unless  dinner  happened  to  be  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  late,  I  was  green  regarding  phy 
sicians  and  the  ways  of  physicians.  But  I 
knew  Doctor  X  slightly,  having  met  him 
last  summer  in  one  of  his  hours  of  ease  in 
the  grand  stand  at  a  ball  game,  when  he 
was  expressing  a  desire  to  cut  the  umpire's 
throat  from  ear  to  ear,  free  of  charge;  and 
I  remembered  his  name,  and  remembered, 
too,  that  he  had  impressed  me  at  the  time 
[16] 


*  ^Speaking  of  Operations — ' r 

as  being  a  person  of  character  and  decision 
and  scholarly  attainments. 

He  wore  whiskers.  Somehow  in  my 
mind  whiskers  are  ever  associated  with 
medical  skill.  I  presume  this  is  a  heritage 
of  my  youth,  though  I  believe  others  labor 
under  the  same  impression.  As  I  look  back 
it  seems  to  me  that  in  childhood's  days  all 
the  doctors  in  our  town  wore  whiskers. 

I  recall  one  old  doctor  down  there  in 
Kentucky  who  was  practically  lurking  in 
ambush  all  the  time.  All  he  needed  was 
a  few  decoys  out  in  front  of  him  and  a 
pump  gun  to  be  a  duck  blind.  He  carried 
his  calomel  about  with  him  in  a  fruit  jar, 
and  when  there  was  a  cutting  job  he 
stropped  his  scalpel  on  his  bootleg. 

You  see,  in  those  primitive  times  germs 
had  not  been  invented  yet,  and  so  he  did 
not  have  to  take  any  steps  to  avoid  them. 
Now  we  know  that  loose,  luxuriant  whisk 
ers  are  unsanitary,  because  they  make  such 
fine  winter  quarters  for  germs;  so,  though 
the  doctors  still  wear  whiskers,  they  do  not 
wear  them  wild  and  waving.  In  the  pro 
fession  bosky  whiskers  are  taboo;  they  must 
[171 


"Speaking  of  Operations 


55 


be  landscaped.  And  since  it  is  a  recognized 
fact  that  germs  abhor  orderliness  and 
straight  lines  they  now  go  elsewhere  to  re 
side,  and  the  doctor  may  still  retain  his 
traditional  aspect  and  yet  be  practically 
germproof .  Doctor  X  was  trimmed  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  ethics  of  the  newer 
school.  He  had  trellis  whiskers.  So  I 
went  to  see  him  at  his  offices  in  a  fashion-* 
able  district,  on  an  expensive  side  street. 

Before  reaching  him  I  passed  through 
the  hands  of  a  maid  and  a  nurse,  each  of 
whom  spoke  to  me  in  a  low,  sorrowful  tone 
of  voice,  which  seemed  to  indicate  that 
there  was  very  little  hope. 

I  reached  an  inner  room  where  Doctor 
X  was.     He  looked  me  over,  while  I  de 
scribed  for  him  as  best  I  could  what  seemed 
to  be  the  matter  with  me,  and  asked  me 
number  of  intimate  questions  touching  o 
the  lives,  works,  characters  and  peculiari 
ties  of  my  ancestors;  after  which  he  mad 
me  stand  up  in  front  of  him  and  take  m 
coat  off,  and  he  punched  me  hither  an 
yon  with  his  forefinger.     He  also  knocke 
repeatedly    on    my    breastbone    with    hi 

[18] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

knuckles,  and  each  time,  on  doing  this, 
would  apply  his  ear  to  my  chest  and  listen 
intently  for  a  spell,  afterward  shaking  his 
head  in  a  disappointed  way.  Apparently 
there  was  nobody  at  home.  For  quite  a 
time  he  kept  on  knocking,  but  without  get 
ting  any  response. 

He  then  took  my  temperature  and  fifteen 
dollars,  and  said  it  was  an  interesting  case 
— not  unusual  exactly,  but  interesting — and 
that  it  called  for  an  operation. 

From  the  way  my  heart  and  other  organs 
jumped  inside  of  me  at  that  statement  I 
knew  at  once  that,  no  matter  what  he  may 
have  thought,  the  premises  were  not  unoc 
cupied.  Naturally  I  inquired  how  soon 
he  meant  to  operate.  Personally  I  trusted 
there  was  no  hurry  about  it.  I  was  per 
fectly  willing  to  wait  for  several  years,  if 
necessary.  He  smiled  at  my  ignorance. 

"I  never  operate,"  he  said;  "operating  is 
entirely  out  of  my  line.  I  am  a  diagnosti 


cian." 


He  was,  too — I  give  him  full  credit  for 
that.    He  was  a  good,  keen,  close  diagnosti 
cian.    How  did  he  know  I  had  only  fifteen 
[19] 


^ 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


dollars  on  me?  You  did  not  have  to  tell 
this  man  what  you  had,  or  how  much.  He 
knew  without  being  told. 

I  asked  whether  he  was  acquainted  with 
Doctor  Y  —  Y  being  a  person  whom  I  had 
met  casually  at  a  club  to  which  I  belong. 
Oh,  yes,  he  said,  he  knew  Doctor  Y.  Y 
was  a  clever  man,  X  said  —  very,  very  clever; 
but  Y  specialized  in  the  eyes,  the  ears,  the 
nose  and  the  throat.  I  gathered  from  what 
Doctor  X  said  that  any  time  Doctor  Y 
ventured  below  the  thorax  he  was  out  of 
bounds  and  liable  to  be  penalized;  and  thai 
if  by  any  chance  he  strayed  down  as  far 
as  the  lungs  he  would  call  for  help  anc 
back  out  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

This  was  news  to  me.  It  would  appear 
that  these  up-to-date  practitioners  just  go 
ahead  and  divide  you  up  and  partition  you 
out  among  themselves  without  saying  any 
thing  to  you  about  it.  Your  torso  belongs 
to  one  man  and  your  legs  are  the  exclusive 
property  of  his  brother  practitioner  down 
on  the  next  block,  and  so  on.  You  may 
belong  to  as  many  as  half  a  dozen  special 
ists,  most  of  whom,  very  possibly,  are  tota 
[20] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

strangers  to  you,  and  yet  never  know  a  thing 
about  it  yourself. 

It  has  rather  the  air  of  trespass — nay, 
more  than  that,  it  bears  some  of  the  aspects 
of  unlawful  entry — but  I  suppose  it  is  legal. 
Certainly,  judging  by  what  I  am  able  to 
learn,  the  system  is  being  carried  on  gener 
ally.  So  it  must  be  ethical. 

Anything  doctors  do  in  a  mass  is  ethical. 
Almost  anything  they  do  singly  and  on  in 
dividual  responsibility  is  unethical.  Being 
ethical  among  doctors  is  practically  the 
same  thing  as  being  a  Democrat  in  Texas 
or  a  Presbyterian  in  Scotland. 

"Y  will  never  do  for  you,"  said  Doctor 
X,  when  I  had  rallied  somewhat  from  the 
shock  of  these  disclosures.  "I  would  sug 
gest  that  you  go  to  Doctor  Z,  at  such-and- 
such  an  address.  You  are  exactly  in  Z's 
line.  I'll  let  him  know  that  you  are  com 
ing  and  when,  and  I'll  send  him  down  my 
diagnosis." 

So  that  same  afternoon,  the  appointment 
having  been  made  by  telephone,  I  went,  full 
of  quavery  emotions,  to  Doctor  Z's  place. 
As  soon  as  I  was  inside  his  outer  hallway 

[21] 


* '  Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

I  realized  that  I  was  nearing  the  presence 
of  one  highly  distinguished  in  his  profes 
sion. 

A  pussy-footed  male  attendant,  in  a  livery 
that  made  him  look  like  a  cross  between 
a  headwaiter  and  an  undertaker's  assistant, 
escorted  me  through  an  anteroom  into  a 
reception-room,  where  a  considerable  num 
ber  of  well-dressed  men  and  women  were 
sitting  about  in  strained  attitudes,  pretend 
ing  to  read  magazines  while  they  waited 
their  turns,  but  in  reality  furtively  watch 
ing  one  another. 

I  sat  down  in  a  convenient  chair,  adher 
ing  fast  to  my  hat  and  my  umbrella.  They 
were  the  only  friends  I  had  there  and  I 
was  determined  not  to  lose  them  without 
a  struggle.  On  the  wall  were  many  colored 
charts  showing  various  portions  of  the  hu 
man  anatomy  and  what  ailed  them.  Directly 
in  front  of  me  was  a  very  thrilling  illus 
tration,  evidently  copied  from  an  oil  paint 
ing,  of  a  liver  in  a  bad  state  of  repair.  I 
said  to  myself  that  if  I  had  a  liver  like 
that  one  I  should  keep  it  hidden  from  the 
public  eye — I  would  never  permit  it  to  sit 

[22] 


E  REGARDED  IT  AS  A  SUIT  OF  CLOTHES 
UT  I  KNEW  BETTER 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

for  its  portrait.  Still,  there  is  no  account 
ing  for  tastes.  I  know  a  man  who  got  his 
spleen  back  from  the  doctors  and  now  keeps 
it  in  a  bottle  of  alcohol  on  the  what-not  in 
the  parlor,  as  one  of  his  most  treasured 
possessions,  and  sometimes  shows  it  to  visi 
tors.  He,  however,  is  of  a  very  saving  dis 
position. 

Presently  a  lady  secretary,  who  sat  be 
hind  a  roll-top  desk  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
lifted  a  forefinger  and  silently  beckoned 
me  to  her  side.  I  moved  over  and  sat  down 
by  her;  she  took  down  my  name  and  my 
age  and  my  weight  and  my  height,  and  a 
number  of  other  interesting  facts  that  will 
come  in  very  handy  should  anyone  ever  be 
moved  to  write  a  complete  history  of  my 
early  life.  In  common  with  Doctor  X  she 
shared  one  attribute — she  manifested  a 
deep  curiosity  regarding  my  forefathers — 
wanted  to  know  all  about  them.  I  felt  that 
this  was  carrying  the  thing  too  far.  I  felt 
like  saying  to  her: 

"Miss  or  madam,  so  far  as  I  know  there 
is  nothing  the  matter  with  my  ancestors  of 
the  second  and  third  generations  back,  ex- 
[23] 


^Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

cept  that  they  are  dead.  I  am  not  here 
to  seek  medical  assistance  for  a  grandparent 
who  succumbed  to  disappointment  that 
time  when  Samuel  J.  Tilden  got  counted 
out,  or  for  a  great-grandparent  who  entered 
into  Eternal  Rest  very  unexpectedly  and  in 
a  manner  entirely  uncalled  for  as  a  result 
of  being  an  innocent  bystander  in  one  of 
those  feuds  that  were  so  popular  in  my 
native  state  immediately  following  the 
Mexican  War.  Leave  my  ancestors  alone. 
There  is  no  need  of  your  shaking  my  family 
tree  in  the  belief  that  a  few  overripe  pa 
tients  will  fall  out.  I  alone — I,  me,  myself 
— am  the  present  candidate!" 

However,  I  refrained  from  making  this 
protest  audibly.  I  judged  she  was  only  go 
ing  according  to  the  ritual;  and  as  she  had 
a  printed  card,  with  blanks  in  it  ready  to 
be  filled  out  with  details  regarding  the  re 
mote  members  of  the  family  connection,  I 
humored  her  along. 

When  I  could  not  remember  something 
she  wished  to  know  concerning  an  ancestor 
I  supplied  her  with  thrilling  details  culled 
from  the  field  of  fancy.  When  the  card 

[24] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

was  entirely  filled  up  she  sent  me  back  to 
my  old  place  to  wait.  I  waited  and  waited, 
breeding  fresh  ailments  all  the  time.  I 
had  started  out  with  one  symptom;  now  if 
I  had  one  I  had  a  million  and  a  half.  I 
could  feel  goose  flesh  sprouting  out  all  over 
me.  If  I  had  been  taller  I  might  have 
had  more,  but  not  otherwise.  Such  is  the 
power  of  the  human  imagination  when  the 
surroundings  are  favorable  to  its  develop 
ment. 

Time  passed;  to  me  it  appeared  that 
nearly  all  the  time  there  was  passed  and 
that  we  were  getting  along  toward  the 
shank-end  of  the  Christian  era  mighty  fast. 
I  was  afraid  my  turn  would  come  next 
and  afraid  it  would  not.  Perhaps  you  know 
this  sensation.  You  get  it  at  the  dentist's, 
and  when  you  are  on  the  list  of  after-dinner 
speakers  at  a  large  banquet,  and  when  you 
are  waiting  for  the  father  of  the  Only  Girl 
in  the  World  to  make  up  his  mind  whether 
he  is  willing  to  try  to  endure  you  as  a  son- 
in-law. 

Then  some  more  time  passed. 

One  by  one  my  Companions,  obeying  a 

[25] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

command,  passed  out  through  the  door  at 
the  back,  vanishing  out  of  my  life  forever. 
None  of  them  returned.  I  was  vaguely 
wondering  whether  Doctor  Z  buried  his 
dead  on  the  premises  or  had  them  removed 
by  a  secret  passageway  in  the  rear,  when 
a  young  woman  in  a  nurse's  costume  tapped 
me  on  the  shoulder  from  behind. 

I  jumped.  She  hid  a  compassionate 
smile  with  her  hand  and  told  me  that  the 
doctor  would  see  me  now. 

As  I  rose  to  follow  her — still  clinging 
with  the  drowning  man's  grip  of  despera 
tion  to  my  hat  and  my  umbrella — I  was 
astonished  to  note  by  a  glance  at  the  cal 
endar  on  the  wall  that  this  was  still  the 
present  date.  I  thought  it  would  be  Thurs 
day  of  next  week  at  the  very  least. 

Doctor  Z  also  wore  whiskers,  carefully 
pointed  up  by  an  expert  hedge  trimmer. 
He  sat  at  his  desk,  surrounded  by  freewill 
offerings  from  grateful  patients  and  by 
glass  cases  containing  other  things  he  had 
taken  away  from  them  when  they  were  not 
in  a  condition  to  object.  I  had  expected, 
after  all  the  preliminary  ceremonies  and 

[26] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

delays,  that  we  should  have  a  long  seance 
together.  Not  so ;  not  at  all.  The  modern 
expert  in  surgery  charges  as  much  for  re 
membering  your  name  between  visits  as  the 
family  doctor  used  to  expect  for  staying 
up  all  night  with  you,  but  he  daes  not 
waste  any  time  when  you  are  in  his  pres 
ence. 

I  was  about  to  find  that  out.  And  a  little 
later  on  I  was  to  find  out  a  lot  of  other 
things;  in  fact,  that  whole  week  was  of 
immense  educational  value  to  me. 

I  presume  it  was  because  he  stood  so 
high  in  his  profession,  and  was  almost  con 
stantly  engaged  in  going  into  the  best  so 
ciety  that  Doctor  Z  did  not  appear  to  be 
the  least  bit  excited  over  my  having  picked 
him  out  to  look  into  me.  In  the  most  per 
functory  manner  he  shook  the  hand  that 
has  shaken  the  hands  of  Jess  Willard, 
George  M.  Cohan  and  Henry  Ford,  and 
bade  me  be  seated  in  a  chair  which  was 
drawn  up  in  a  strong  light,  where  he  might 
gaze  directly  at  me  as  we  conversed  and 
so  get  the  full  values  of  the  composition. 
But  if  I  was  a  treat  for  him  to  look  at  he 
concealed  his  feelings  very  effectually. 

[27] 


4  ^Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

He  certainly  had  his  emotions  under 
splendid  control.  But  then,  of  course,  you 
must  remember  that  he  probably  had 
traveled  about  extensively  and  was  used  to 
sight-seeing. 

From  this  point  on  everything  passed  off 
in  a  most  businesslike  manner.  He  reached 
into  a  filing  cabinet  and  took  out  an  ex 
hibit,  which  I  recognized  as  the  same  one 
his  secretary  had  filled  out  in  the  early 
part  of  the  century.  So  I  was  already  in 
the  card-index  class.  Then  briefly  he 
looked  over  the  manifest  that  Doctor  X 
had  sent  him.  It  may  not  have  been  a 
manifest — it  may  have  been  an  invoice  or 
a  bill  of  lading.  Anyhow,  I  was  in  the  as 
signee's  hands.  I  could  only  hope  it  would 
not  eventually  become  necessary  to  call  in 
a  receiver.  Then  he  spoke: 

"Yes,  yes-yes,"  he  said;  "yes-yes-yes! 
Operation  required.  Small  matter — hum, 
hum!  Let's  see — this  is  Tuesday?  Quite 
so.  Do  it  Friday!  Friday  at" — he  glanced 
toward  a  scribbled  pad  of  engagement 
dates  at  his  elbow — "Friday  at  seven  A.  M. 
[28] 


'  ^ 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


No;  make  it  seven-fifteen.  Have  impor 
tant  tumor  case  at  seven.  St.  Germicide's 
Hospital.  You  know  the  place?  —  up  on 
Umpty-umph  Street.  Go'  day!  Miss  Who- 
ziz,  call  next  visitor." 

And  before  I  realized  that  practically 
the  whole  affair  had  been  settled  I  was 
outside  the  consultation-room  in  a  small 
private  hall,  and  the  secretary  was  telling 
me  further  details  would  be  conveyed  to 
me  by  mail.  I  went  home  in  a  dazed  state. 
For  the  first  time  I  was  beginning  to  learn 
something  about  an  industry  in  which  here 
tofore  I  had  never  been  interested.  Espe 
cially  was  I  struck  by  the  difference  now  re 
vealed  to  me  in  the  preliminary  stages  of 
the  surgeons'  business  as  compared  with 
their  fellow  experts  in  the  allied  cutting 
trades  —  tailors,  for  instance,  not  to  mention 
barbers.  Every  barber,  you  know,  used  to 
be  a  surgeon,  only  he  spelled  it  chirurgeon. 
Since  then  the  two  professions  have  drifted 
far  apart.  Even  a  half-witted  barber  —  the 
kind  who  always  has  the  first  chair  as  you 
come  into  the  shop  —  can  easily  spend  ten 
minutes  of  your  time  thinking  of  things  he 

[29] 


" 'Speaking  of  Operations — v 

thinks  you  should  have  and  mentioning 
them  to  you  one  by  one,  whereas  any  good, 
live  surgeon  knows  what  you  have  almost 
instantly. 

As  for  the  tailor — consider  how  weari 
some  are  his  methods  when  you  parallel 
them  alongside  the  tremendous  advances 
in  this  direction  made  by  the  surgeon — 
how  cumbersome  and  old-fashioned  and 
tedious!  Why,  an  experienced  surgeon  has 
you  all  apart  in  half  the  time  the  tailor 
takes  up  in  deciding  whether  the  vest  shall 
fasten  with  five  buttons  or  six.  Our  own 
domestic  tailors  are  bad  enough  in  this  re 
gard  and  the  Old  World  tailors  are  even 
worse. 

I  remember  a  German  tailor  in  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  in  the  fall  of  1914  who  under 
took  to  build  for  me  a  suit  suitable  for 
visiting  the  battle  lines  informally.  He 
was  the  most  literary  tailor  I  ever  met  any 
where.  He  would  drape  the  material  over 
my  person  and  then  take  a  piece  of  chalk 
and  write  quite  a  nice  long  piece  on  me. 
Then  he  would  rub  it  out  and  write  it  all 
over  again,  but  more  fully.  He  kept  this 
[30] 


^ 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


up  at  intervals  of  every  other  day  until  he 
had  writer's  cramp.  After  that  he  used 
pins.  He  would  pin  the  seams  together, 
uttering  little  soothing,  clucking  sounds  in 
German  whenever  a  pin  went  through  the 
goods  and  into  me.  The  German  cluck  is 
not  so  soothing  as  the  cluck  of  the  English- 
speaking  peoples,  I  find. 

At  the  end  of  two  long  and  trying  weeks, 
which  wore  both  of  us  down  noticeably,  he 
had  the  job  done.  It  was  not  an  unquali 
fied  success.  He  regarded  is  as  a  suit  of 
clothes,  but  I  knew  better;  it  was  a  set  of 
slip  covers,  and  if  only  I  had  been  a  two- 
seated  runabout  it  would  have  proved  a 
perfect  fit,  I  am  sure;  but  I  am  a  single- 
seated  design  and  it  did  not  answer.  I 
wore  it  to  the  war  because  I  had  nothing 
else  to  wear  that  would  stamp  me  as  a 
regular  war  correspondent,  except,  of 
course,  my  wrist  watch;  but  I  shall  not 
wear  it  to  another  war.  War  is  terrible 
enough  already;  and,  besides,  I  have  parted 
with  it.  On  my  way  home  through  Hol 
land  I  gave  that  suit  to  a  couple  of  poor 
Belgian  refugees,  and  I  presume  they  are 
still  wearing  it. 

[31] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — 


5 


So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  observe, 
the  surgeons  and  the  tailors  of  these  times 
share  but  one  common  instinct:  If  you  go 
to  a  new  surgeon  or  to  a  new  tailor  he 
is  morally  certain,  after  looking  you  over, 
that  the  last  surgeon  you  had,  or  the  last 
tailor,  did  not  do  your  cutting  properly. 
There,  however,  is  where  the  resemblance 
ends.  The  tailor,  as  I  remarked  in  effect 
just  now,  wants  an  hour  at  least  in  which 
to  decide  how  he  may  best  cover  up  and 
disguise  the  irregularities  of  the  human 
form;  in  much  less  time  than  that  the 
surgeon  has  completely  altered  the  form  it 
self. 

With  the  surgeon  it  is  very  much  as  it 
is  with  those  learned  men  who  write  those 
large,  impressive  works  of  reference  which 
should  be  permanently  in  every  library, 
and  which  we  are  forever  buying  from  an 
agent  because  we  are  so  passionately  ad 
dicted  to  payments.  If  the  thing  he  seeks 
does  not  appear  in  the  contents  proper  he 
knows  exactly  where  to  look  for  it.  "See 
appendix,"  says  the  historian  to  you  in  a 
footnote.  "See  appendix,"  says  the  surgeon 
[32] 


^Speaking  of  Operations — " 

to  himself,  the  while  humming  a  cheery 
refrain.  And  so  he  does. 

Well,  I  went  home.  This  was  Tuesday 
and  the  operation  was  not  to  be  performed 
until  the  coming  Friday.  By  Wednesday 
I  had  calmed  down  considerably.  By 
Thursday  morning  I  was  practically  nor 
mal  again  as  regards  my  nerves.  You  will 
understand  that  I  was  still  in  a  state  of 
blissful  ignorance  concerning  the  actual 
methods  of  the  surgical  profession  as  ex 
emplified  by  its  leading  exponents  of  to 
day.  The  knowledge  I  have  touched  on 
in  the  pages  immediately  preceding  was  to 
come  to  me  later. 

Likewise  Doctor  Z's  manner  had  been 
deceiving.  It  could  not  be  that  he  meant 
to  carve  me  to  any  really  noticeable  extent 
— his  attitude  had  been  entirely  too  casual. 
At  our  house  carving  is  a  very  serious  mat 
ter.  Any  time  I  take  the  head  of  the  table 
and  start  in  to  carve  it  is  fitting  to  remove 
the  women  and  children  to  a  place  of  safety, 
and  onlookers  should  get  under  the  table. 
When  we  first  began  housekeeping  and 
gave  our  first  small  dinner-party  we  had 
[33] 


1 '  Speaking  of  Operations — ?  r 

a  brace  of  ducks  cooked  in  honor  of  th< 
company,  and  I,  as  host,  undertook  to  carv< 
them.    I  never  knew  until  then  that  a  duel 
was  built  like  a  watch — that  his  works  wer 
inclosed  in  a  burglarproof  case.     Withou 
the  use  of  dynamite  the  Red  Leary-O'Brier 
gang   could    not   have    broken    into    thos 
ducks.     I  thought  so  then  and  I  think  so 
yet.     Years  have  passed  since  then,  but  L 
may  state  that  even  now,  when  there  are 
guests  for  dinner,  we  do  not  have  ducks. 
Unless  somebody  else  is  going  to  carve,  we 
have  liver. 

I  mention  this  fact  in  passing  because 
it  shows  that  I  had  learned  to  revere  carv 
ing  as  one  of  the  higher  arts,  and  one  not 
to  be  approached  except  in  a  spirit  of  due 
appreciation  of  the  magnitude  of  the  under 
taking,  and  after  proper  consideration  and 
thought  and  reflection,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  % 

If  this  were  true  as  regards  a  mere  duck 
why  not  all  the  more  so  as  regards  the  carv 
ing  of  a  person  of  whom  I  am  so  very  fonc 
as  I  am  of  myself?  Thus  I  reasoned.  Anc 
finally,  had  not  Doctor  Z  spoken  of  th< 
[34] 


4  ^Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

coming  operation  as  a  small  matter.  Well 
then? 

Thursday  at  noon  I  received  from  Doc 
tor  Z's  secretary  a  note  stating  that  ar 
rangements  had  been  made  for  my  admis 
sion  into  St.  Germicide  that  same  evening 
and  that  I  was  to  spend  the  night  there. 
This  hardly  seemed  necessary.  Still,  the 
tone  of  the  note  appeared  to  indicate 
that  the  hospital  authorities  particularly 
wished  to  have  me  for  an  overnight  guest; 
and  as  I  reflected  that  probably  the  poor 
things  had  few  enough  bright  spots  in  their 
busy  lives,  I  decided  I  would  humor  them 
along  and  gladden  the  occasion  with  my 
presence  from  dinner-time  on. 

About  eight  o'clock  I  strolled  in  very 
jauntily.  In  my  mind  I  had  the  whole 
programme  mapped  out.  I  would  stay  at 
the  hospital  for,  say,  two  days  following  the 
operation — or,  at  most,  three.  Then  I  must 
be  up  and  away.  I  had  a  good  deal  of 
work  to  do  and  a  number  of  people  to  see 
on  important  business,  and  I  could  not 
really  afford  to  waste  more  than  a  week 
end  on  the  staff  of  St.  Germicide's.  After 

[35] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — 5? 

Monday  they  must  look  to  their  own  de 
vices  for  social  entertainment.  That  was 
my  idea.  Now  when  I  look  back  on  it  I 
laugh,  but  it  is  a  hollow  laugh  and  there 
is  no  real  merriment  in  it. 

Indeed,  almost  from  the  moment  of  my 
entrance  little  things  began  to  come  up  that 
were  calculated  to  have  a  depressing  effect 
on  one's  spirits.  Downstairs  a  serious-look 
ing  lady  met  me  and  entered  in  a  book  a 
number  of  salient  facts  regarding  my  per 
sonality  which  the  previous  investigators 
had  somehow  overlooked.  There  is  a  lot 
of  bookkeeping  about  an  operation.  This 
detail  attended  to,  a  young  man,  dressed 
in  white  garments  and  wearing  an  expres 
sion  that  stamped  him  as  one  who  had  suf 
fered  a  recent  deep  bereavement  came  and 
relieved  me  of  my  hand  bag  and  escorted 
me  upstairs. 

As  we  passed  through  the  upper  corri 
dors  I  had  my  first  introduction  to  the 
hospital  smell,  which  is  a  smell  com 
pounded  of  iodoform,  ether,  gruel,  and 
something  boiling.  All  hospitals  have  it, 
[36] 


IN  WHICH  I  ASSUMED  ALL  RESPONSIBILITY 
FOR  WHAT  WAS  TO  TAKE  PLACE 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

I  understand.  In  time  you  get  used  to  it, 
but  you  never  really  care  for  it. 

The  young  man  led  me  into  a  small  room 
tastefully  decorated  with  four  walls,  a  floor, 
a  ceiling,  a  window  sill  and  a  window,  a 
door  and  a  doorsill,  and  a  bed  and  a  chair. 
He  told  me  to  go  to  bed.  I  did  not  want 
to  go  to  bed — it  was  not  my  regular  bed 
time — but  he  made  a  point  of  it,  and  I 
judged  it  was  according  to  regulations;  so 
I  undressed  and  put  on  my  night  clothes 
and  crawled  in.  He  left  me,  taking  my 
other  clothes  and  my  shoes  with  him,  but 
I  was  not  allowed  to  get  lonely. 

A  little  later  a  ward  surgeon  appeared, 
to  put  a  few  inquiries  of  a  pointed  and  per 
sonal  nature.  He  particularly  desired  to 
know  what  my  trouble  was.  I  explained 
to  him  that  I  couldn't  tell  him — he  would 
have  to  see  Doctor  X  or  Doctor  Z;  they 
probably  knew,  but  were  keeping  it  a  secret 
between  themselves. 

The  answer  apparently  satisfied  him,  be 
cause  immediately  after  that  he  made  me 
sign  a  paper  in  which  I  assumed  all  respon 
sibility  for  what  was  to  take  place  the  next 
morning. 

[37] 


"Speaking  of  Operations 


9  r 


This  did  not  seem  exactly  fair.  As  I 
pointed  out  to  him,  it  was  the  surgeon's 
affair,  not  mine;  and  if  the  surgeon  made 
a  mistake  the  joke  would  be  on  him  and 
not  on  me,  because  in  that  case  I  would  not 
be  here  anyhow.  But  I  signed,  as  re 
quested,  on  the  dotted  line,  and  he  de 
parted. 

After  that,  at  intervals,  the  chief  house 
surgeon  dropped  in,  without  knocking,  and 
the  head  nurse  came,  and  an  interne  or  so, 
and  a  ward  nurse,  and  the  special  nurse 
who  was  to  have  direct  charge  of  me.  It 
dawned  on  me  that  I  was  not  having  any 
more  privacy  in  that  hospital  than  a  gold 
fish. 

About  eleven  o'clock  an  orderly  came, 
and,  without  consulting  my  wishes  in  the 
matter,  he  undressed  me  until  I  could  have 
passed  almost  anywhere  for  September 
Morn's  father,  and  gave  me  a  clean  shave, 
twice  over,  on  one  of  my  most  prominent 
plane  surfaces.  I  must  confess  I  enjoyed 
that  part  of  it.  So  far  as  I  am  able  to 
recall,  it  was  the  only  shave  I  have  ever 
had  where  the  operator  did  not  spray  me 
[38] 


Speaking  of  Operations- 

•••••••••    '• ^—^m~^wmt*i~m+mm^^m^**mm**m*mamm^^^mm**mmmmmm*mmm*»m**mm* 

with,  cheap  perfumery  afterward  and  then 
try  to  sell  me  a  bottle  of  hair  tonic. 

Having  shaved  me,  the  young  man  did 
me  up  amidships  in  a  neat  cloth  parcel, 
took  his  kit  under  his  arm  and  went  away. 

It  occurred  to  me  that,  considering  the 
trivial  nature  of  the  case,  a  good  deal  of 
fuss  was  being  made  over  me  by  persons 
who  could  have  no  personal  concern  in  the 
matter  whatsoever.  This  thought  recurred 
to  me  frequently  as  I  lay  there,  all  tied  in 
a  bundle  like  a  week's  washing.  I  did  not 
feel  quite  so  uppish  as  I  had  felt.  Why 
was  everybody  picking  on  me? 

Anon  I  slept,  but  dreamed  fitfully.  I 
dreamed  that  a  whole  flock  of  surgeons 
came  to  my  bedside  and  charted  me  out  in 
sections,  like  one  of  those  diagram  pictures 
you  see  of  a  beef  in  the  Handy  Compen 
dium  of  Universal  Knowledge,  showing 
the  various  cuts  and  the  butcher's  pet  name 
for  each  cut.  Each  man  took  his  favorite 
joint  and  carried  it  away,  and  when  they 
were  all  gone  I  was  merely  a  recent  site, 
full  of  reverberating  echoes  and  nothing 
else. 

[39] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — 9 

I  have  had  happier  dreams  in  my  time; 
this  was  not  the  kind  of  dream  I  should 
have  selected  had  the  choice  been  left  to 
me. 

V  When  I  woke  the  young  sun  was  shining 
in  at  the  window,  and  an  orderly — not  the 
orderly  who  had  shaved  me,  but  another 
one — was  there  in  my  room  and  my  nurse 
was  waiting  outside  the  door.  The  orderly 
dressed  me  in  a  quaint  suit  of  pyjamas  cut 
on  the  half  shell  and  buttoning  stylishly  in 
the  back,  princesse  mode.  Then  he  rolled 
in  a  flat  litter  on  wheels  and  stretched  me 
on  it,  and  covered  me  up  with  a  white  table 
cloth,  just  as  though  I  had  been  cold  Sun 
day-night  supper,  and  we  started  for  the 
operating-room  at  the  top  of  the  building; 
but  before  we  started  I  lit  a  large  black 
cigar,  as  Gen.  U.  S.  Grant  used  to  do  when 
he  went  into  battle.  I  wished  by  this  to 
show  how  indifferent  I  was.  Maybe  he 
fooled  somebody,  but  I  do  not  believe  I 
possess  the  same  powers  of  simulation  that 
Grant  had.  He  must  have  been  a  very  re 
markable  man — Grant  must. 

The  orderly  and  the  nurse  trundled  me 
[40] 


*  ' 


Speaking  of  Operations- 


out  into  the  hall  and  loaded  me  into  an 
elevator,  which  was  to  carry  us  up  to  the 
top  of  the  hospital.  Several  other  nurses 
were  already  in  the  elevator.  As  we  came 
aboard  one  of  them  remarked  that  it  was  a 
fine  day.  A  fine  day  for  what?  She  did 
not  finish  the  sentence.^ 

Everybody  wore  a  serious  look.  Inside 
of  myself  I  felt  pretty  serious  too  —  serious 
enough  for  ten  or  twelve.  I  had  meant  to 
fling  off  several  very  bright,  spontaneous 
quips  on  the  way  to  the  table.  I  thought 
them  out  in  advance,  but  now,  somehow, 
none  of  them  seemed  appropriate.  In 
stinctively,  as  it  were,  I  felt  that  humor 
was  out  of  place  here. 

I  never  knew  an  elevator  to  progress 
from  the  third  floor  of  a  building  to  the 
ninth  with  such  celerity  as  this  one  on 
which  we  were  traveling  progressed.  Per 
sonally  I  was  in  no  mood  for  haste.  If 
there  was  anyone  else  in  all  that  great 
hospital  who  was  in  a  particular  hurry  to 
be  operated  on  I  was  perfectly  willing  to 
wait.  But  alas,  no!  The  mechanism  of  the 
elevator  was  in  perfect  order  —  entirely  too 

[41] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — ?  9 

perfect.  No  accident  of  any  character  what 
soever  befell  us  en  route,  no  dropping  back 
into  the  basement  with  a  low,  grateful 
thud;  no  hitch;  no  delay  of  any  kind.  We 
were  certainly  out  of  luck  that  trip.  The 
demon  of  a  joyrider  who  operated  the  ac 
cursed  device  jerked  a  lever  and  up  we 
soared  at  a  distressingly  high  rate  of  speed. 
If  I  could  have  had  my  way  about  that 
youth  he  would  have  been  arrested  for 
speeding. 

Now  we  were  there!  They  rolled  me 
into  a  large  room,  all  white,  with  a  rounded 
ceiling  like  the  inside  of  an  egg.  Right 
away  I  knew  what  the  feelings  of  a  poor, 
lonely  little  yolk  are  when  the  spoon  begins 
to  chip  the  shell.  If  I  had  not  been  so  busy 
feeling  sorry  for  myself  I  think  I  might 
have  developed  quite  an  active  sympathy 
for  yolks. 

My  impression  had  been  that  this  was  to 
be  in  the  nature  of  a  private  affair,  with 
out  invitations.  I  was  astonished  to  note 
that  quite  a  crowd  had  assembled  for  the 
opening  exercises.  From  his  attire  and 
general  deportment  I  judged  that  Doctor 
[42] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — v 

Z  was  going  to  be  the  master  of  the  revels, 
he  being  attired  appropriately  in  a  white 
domino,  with  rubber  gloves  and  a  fancy  cap 
of  crash  toweling.  There  were  present, 
also,  my  diagnostic  friend,  Doctor  X,  like 
wise  in  fancy-dress  costume,  and  a  surgeon 
I  had  never  met.  From  what  I  could 
gather  he  was  going  over  the  course  behind 
Doctor  Z  to  replace  the  divots. 

And  there  was  an  interne  in  the  back 
ground,  playing  caddy,  as  it  were,  and  a 
head  nurse,  who  was  going  to  keep  the 
score,  and  two  other  nurses,  who  were  go 
ing  to  help  her  keep  it.  I  only  hoped  that 
they  would  show  no  partiality,  but  be  as 
fair  to  me  as  they  were  to  Doctor  Z,  and 
that  he  would  go  round  in  par. 


So  they  placed  me  right  where  my  eyes 
might  rest  on  a  large  wall  cabinet  full  of 
very  shiny-looking  tools;  and  they  took  my 
cigar  away  from  me  and  folded  my  hands 
on  the  wide  bowknot  of  my  sash.  Then 
they  put  a  cloth  dingus  over  my  face  and 
a  voice  of  authority  told  me  to  breathe. 
That  advice,  however,  was  superfluous  and 
might  just  as  well  have  been  omitted,  for 

[43] 


"Speaking  of  Operations 


55 


such  was  my  purpose  anyhow.  Ever  since 
I  can  recall  anything  at  all,  breathing  has 
been  a  regular  habit  with  me.  So  I 
breathed.  And,  at  that,  a  bottle  of  highly 
charged  sarsaparilla  exploded  somewhere 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  and  most  of  its 
contents  went  up  my  nose. 

I  started  to  tell  them  that  somebody  had 
been  fooling  with  their  ether  and  adulterat 
ing  it,  and  that  if  they  thought  they  could 
send  me  off  to  sleep  with  soda  pop  they 
were  making  the  mistake  of  their  lives,  be 
cause  it  just  naturally  could  not  be  done; 
but  for  some  reason  or  other  I  decided  to 
put  off  speaking  about  the  matter  for  a 
few  minutes.  I  breathed  again — again— 
agai 

I  was  going  away  from  there.  I  was  in 
a  large  gas  balloon,  soaring  up  into  the 
clouds.  How  pleasant!  .  .  .  No,  by  Jove! 
I  was  not  in  a  balloon — I  myself  was  the 
balloon,  which  was  not  quite  so  pleasant. 
Besides,  Doctor  Z  was  going  along  as  a 
passenger;  and  as  we  traveled  up  and  up 
he  kept  jabbing  me  in  the  midriff  with  the 
ferrule  of  a  large  umbrella  which  he  had 

[44] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

brought  along  with  him  in  case  of  rain. 
He  jabbed  me  harder  and  harder.  I  re 
monstrated  with  him.  I  told  him  I  was  a  bit 
tender  in  that  locality  and  the  ferrule  of 
his  umbrella  was  sharp.  He  would  not 
listen.  He  kept  on  jabbing  me.  .  .  . 

Something  broke!  We  started  back  down 
to  earth.  We  fell  faster  and  faster.  We 
fell  nine  miles,  and  after  that  I  began  to 
get  used  to  it.  Then  I  saw  the  earth  be 
neath  and  it  was  rising  up  to  meet  us. 

A  town  was  below — a  town  that  grew 
larger  and  larger  as  we  neared  it.  I  could 
make  out  the  bonded  indebtedness,  and  the 
Carnegie  Library,  and  the  moving-picture 
palaces,  and  the  new  dancing  parlor,  and 
other  principal  points  of  interest. 

At  the  rate  we  were  falling  we  were  cer 
tainly  going  to  make  an  awful  splatter  in 
that  town  when  we  hit.  I  was  sorry  for 
the  street-cleaning  department. 

We  fell  another  half  mile  or  so.  A  spire 
was  sticking  up  into  the  sky  directly  be 
neath  us,  like  a  spear,  to  impale  us.  By  a 
supreme  effort  I  twisted  out  of  the  way  of 
that  spire,  only  to  strike  squarely  on  top  of 

[45] 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


55 


the  roof  of  a  greenhouse  back  of  the  par 
sonage,  next  door.  We  crashed  through  it 
with  a  perfectly  terrific  clatter  of  breaking 
glass  and  landed  in  a  bed  of  white  flowers, 
all  soft  and  downy,  like  feathers. 

And  then  Doctor  Z  stood  up  and  combed 
the  debris  out  of  his  whiskers  and  remarked 
that,  taking  it  by  and  large,  it  had  been  one 
of  the  pleasantest  little  outings  he  had  en 
joyed  in  the  entire  course  of  his  practice. 
He  said  that  as  a  patient  I  was  fair,  but 
as  a  balloon  I  was  immense.  He  asked  me 
whether  I  had  seen  anything  of  his  um 
brella  and  began  looking  round  for  it.  I 
tried  to  help  him  look,  but  I  was  too  tired 
to  exert  myself  much.  I  told  him  I  be 
lieved  I  would  take  a  little  nap. 

I  opened  a  dizzy  eye  part  way.  So  this 
was  heaven —  this  white  expanse  that  swung 
and  swam  before  my  languid  gaze?  No, 
it  could  not  be — it  did  not  smell  like  heaven. 
It  smelled  like  a  hospital.  It  was  a  hospi 
tal.  It  was  my  hospital.  My  nurse  was 
bending  over  me  and  I  caught  a  faint  whiff 
of  the  starch  in  the  front  of  her  crisp  blue 
blouse.  She  was  two-headed  for  the  mo 
il  46] 


'  Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

ment,  but  that  was  a  mere  detail.  She  set 
tled  a  pillow  under  my  head  and  told  me 
to  lie  quiet. 

I  meant  to  lie  quiet;  I  did  not  have  to 
be  told.  I  wanted  to  lie  quiet  and  hurt. 
I  was  hurty  from  head  to  toe  and  back 
again,  and  crosswise  and  eater-cornered. 
I  hurt  diagonally  and  lengthwise  and  on 
the  bias.  I  had  a  taste  in  my  mouth  like 
a  bird-and-animal  store.  And  empty!  It 
seemed  to  me  those  doctors  had  not  left 
anything  inside  of  me  except  the  acoustics. 
Well,  there  was  a  mite  of  consolation  there. 
If  the  overhauling  had  been  as  thorough 
as  I  had  reason  to  believe  it  was  from  my 
present  sensations,  I  need  never  fear  catch 
ing  anything  again  so  long  as  I  lived,  ex 
cept  possibly  dandruff. 

I  waved  the  nurse  away.  I  craved  soli 
tude.  I  desired  only  to  lie  there  in  that 
bed  and  hurt — which  I  did. 

I  had  said  beforehand  I  meant  to  stay  in 
St.  Germicide's  for  two  or  three  days  only. 
It  is  when  I  look  back  on  that  resolution 
I  emit' the  hollow  laugh  elsewhere  referred 
to.  For  exactly  four  weeks  I  was  flat  on 
[47] 


^Speaking  of  Operations — 5 

my  back.  I  know  now  how  excessively 
wearied  a  man  can  get  of  his  own  back, 
how  tired  of  it,  how  bored  with  it!  And 
after  that  another  two  weeks  elapsed  before 
my  legs  became  the  same  dependable  pair 
of  legs  I  had  known  in  the  past. 

I  did  not  want  to  eat  at  first,  and  when 
I  did  begin  to  want  to  they  would  not  let 
me.  If  I  felt  sort  of  peckish  they  let  me 
suck  a  little  glass  thermometer,  but  there 
is  not  much  nourishment  really  in  thermo 
meters.  And  for  entertainment,  to  wile  the 
dragging  hours  away,  I  could  count  the 
cracks  in  the  ceiling  and  read  my  tempera 
ture  chart,  which  was  a  good  deal  like  Red 
Ames'  batting  average  for  the  past  season 
— ranging  from  ninety-nine  to  one  hundred 
and  four. 

Also,  through  daily  conversations  with 
my  nurse  and  with  the  surgeons  who 
dropped  in  from  time  to  time  to  have  a 
look  at  me,  I  learned,  as  I  lay  there,  a  great 
deal  about  the  medical  profession — that  is, 
a  great  deal  for  a  layman — and  what  I 
learned  filled  me  with  an  abiding  admira 
tion  for  it,  both  as  a  science  and  as  a  busi- 

[48] 


Speaking  of  Operations — 5 : 

ness.  This  surely  is  one  profession  which 
ever  keeps  its  face  to  the  front.  Burying 
its  past  mistakes  and  forgetting  them  as 
speedily  as  possible,  it  pushes  straight  for 
ward  into  fresh  fields  and  fresh  patients, 
always  hopeful  of  what  the  future  may 
bring  in  the  way  of  newly  discovered  and 
highly  expensive  ailments.  As  we  look 
backward  upon  the  centuries  we  are  as 
tonished  by  its  advancement.  I  did  a  good 
deal  of  looking  backwards  upon  the  cen 
turies  during  my  sojourn  at  St.  Germi 
cide's. 

Take  the  Middle  Ages  now — the  period 
when  a  barber  and  a  surgeon  were  one  and 
the  same.  If  a  man  made  a  failure  as  a 
barber  he  turned  his  talents  to  surgery. 
Surgeons  in  those  times  were  a  husky  breed. 
I  judge  they  worked  by  the  day  instead  of 
by  piecework;  anyhow  the  records  show 
they  were  very  fond  of  experiments,  where 
somebody  else  furnished  the  raw  material. 

When  there  came  a  resounding  knock  at 

the  tradesman's  entrance    of    the    moated 

grange,  the  lord  of  the  manor,  looking  over 

the   portcullis   and   seeing   a   lusty  wight 

[49] 


Speaking  of  Operations 


" 


standing  down  below,  in  a  leather  apron, 
with  his  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  kit  of 
soldering  tools  under  his  arm,  didn't  know 
until  he  made  inquiry  whether  the  gentle 
stranger  had  come  to  mend  the  drain  or 
remove  the  cook's  leg. 

A  little  later  along,  when  gunpowder 
had  come  into  general  use  as  a  humanizing 
factor  of  civilization,  surgeons  treated  a 
gunshot  wound  by  pouring  boiling  lard 
into  it,  which  I  would  say  was  calculated 
to  take  the  victim's  mind  off  his  wound  and 
give  him  something  else  to  think  about  — 
for  the  time  being,  anyhow.  I  assume  the 
notion  of  applying  a  mustard  plaster  out 
side  one's  stomach  when  one  has  a  pain  in 
side  one's  stomach  is  based  on  the  same 
principle. 

However,  one  doesn't  have  to  go  clear 
back  to  medieval  times  to  note  the  radical 
differences  in  the  plan  of  treating  human 
ailments.  A  great  many  persons  who  are 
still  living  can  remember  when  the  doctors 
were  not  nearly  so  numerous  as  they  are 
now.  I,  for  one,  would  be  the  last  to  re 
verse  the  sentence  and  say  that  because  the 
[50] 


I  WISHED  TO  SHOW 

HOW  UTTERLY  INDIFFERENT  I  WAS 


^ 


Speaking  of  Operations — 


doctors  were  not  nearly  so  numerous  then 
as  they  are  now,  those  persons  are  still  liv 
ing  so  numerously. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  the  sap 
flowed  and  the  birds  mated,  the  sturdy 
farmer  felt  that  he  was  due  to  have  some 
thing  the  matter  with  him,  too.  So  he 
•Would  ride  into  the  country-seat  and  get 
an  almanac.  Doubtless  the  reader,  if 
country  raised,  has  seen  copies  of  this  popu 
lar  work.  On  the  outside  cover,  which  was 
dark  blue  in  color,  there  was  a  picture  of 
a  person  whose  stomach  was  sliced  four 
ways,  like  a  twenty-cent  pie,  and  then 
folded  back  neatly,  thus  exposing  his  en 
tire  interior  arrangements  to  the  gaze  of 
the  casual  observer.  However,  this  party, 
judging  by  his  picture,  did  not  appear  to 
be  suffering.  He  did  not  even  seem  to  fear 
that  he  might  catch  cold  from  standing 
there  in  his  own  draught.  He  was  gazing 
off  into  space  in  an  absent-minded  kind  of 
way,  apparently  not  aware  that  anything 
was  wrong  with  him;  and  on  all  sides  he 
was  surrounded  by  interesting  exhibits,  such 
as  a  crab,  and  a  scorpion,  and  a  goat,  and  a 

[51] 


Speaking  of  Operations — ' ' 

chap  with  a  bow  and  arrow — and  one  thing 
and  another. 

Such  was  the  main  design  of  the  cover, 
while  the  contents  were  made  up  of  rec 
ognized  and  standard  varieties  in  the  line 
of  jokes  and  the  line  of  diseases  which  al 
ternated,  with  first  a  favorite  joke  and  then 
a  favorite  disease.  The  author  who  wrote 
the  descriptions  of  the  diseases  was  one  of 
the  most  convincing  writers  that  ever  lived 
anywhere.  As  a  realist  he  had  no  superiors 
among  those  using  our  language  as  a 
vehicle  for  the  expression  of  thought.  He 
was  a  wonder.  If  a  person  wasn't  particu 
lar  about  what  ailed  him  he  could  read 
any  page  at  random  and  have  one  specific 
disease.  Or  he  could  read  the  whole  book 
through  and  have  them  all,  in  their  most 
advanced  stages.  Then  the  only  thing  that 
could  save  him  was  a  large  dollar  bottle. 

Again,  in  attacks  of  the  breakbone  ague 
or  malaria  it  was  customary  to  call  in  a 
local  practitioner,  generally  an  elderly  lady 
of  the  neighborhood,  who  had  none  of  these 
latter-day  prejudices  regarding  the  use  of 
tobacco  by  the  gentler  sex.  One  whom  I 

[52] 


Speaking  of  Operations — 9  5 

distantly  recall,  among  childhood's  happy 
memories,  carried  this  liberal-mindedness 
to  a  point  where  she  not  only  dipped  snuff 
and  smoked  a  cob  pipe,  but  sometimes 
chewed  a  little  natural  leaf.  This  lady,  on 
being  called  in,  would  brew  up  a  large 
caldron  of  medicinal  roots  and  barks  and 
sprouts  and  things;  and  then  she  would 
deluge  the  interior  of  the  sufferer  with  a 
large  gourdful  of  this  pleasing  mixture  at 
regular  intervals.  It  was  efficacious,  too. 
The  inundated  person  either  got  well  or 
else  he  drowned  from  the  inside.  Rocking 
the  patient  was  almost  as  dangerous  a  pas 
time  as  rocking  the  boat.  This  also  helps 
to  explain,  I  think,  why  so  many  of  our 
forebears  had  floating  kidneys.  There  was 
nothing  else  for  a  kidney  to  do. 

By  the  time  I  attained  to  long  trousers, 
people  in  our  town  mainly  had  outgrown 
the  unlicensed  expert  and  were  depending 
more  and  more  upon  the  old-fashioned 
family  doctor — the  one  with  the  whisker- 
jungle — who  drove  about  in  a  gig,  accom 
panied  by  a  haunting  aroma  of  iodoform 
and  carrying  his  calomel  with  him  in  bulk. 

[53] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

He  probably  owned  a  secret  calomel 
mine  of  his  own.  He  must  have;  other 
wise  he  could  never  have  afforded  to  be 
so  generous  with  it.  He  also  had  other 
medicines  with  him,  all  of  them  being 
selected  on  the  principle  that  unless  a  drug 
tasted  like  the  very  dickens  it  couldn't  pos 
sibly  do  you  any  good.  At  all  hours  of 
the  day  and  night  he  was  to  be  seen  going 
to  and  fro,  distributing  nuggets  from  his 
private  lode.  He  went  to  bed  with  his 
trousers  and  his  hat  on,  I  think,  and  there 
was  a  general  belief  that  his  old  mare  slept 
between  the  shafts  of  the  gig,  with  the 
bridle  shoved  up  on  her  forehead. 

It  has  been  only  a  few  years  since  the 
oldtime  general  practitioner  was  every 
where.  Just  look  round  and  see  now  how 
the  system  has  changed!  If  your  liver  be 
gins  to  misconduct  itself  the  first  thought 
of  the  modern  operator  is  to  cut  it  out  and 
hide  it  some  place  where  you  can't  find 
it.  The  oldtimer  would  have  bombarded 
it  with  a  large  brunette  pill  about  the  size 
and  color  of  a  damson  plum.  Or  he  might 
put  you  on  a  diet  of  molasses  seasoned  to 
[541 


"Speaking  of  Operations — " 

taste  with  blue  mass  and  quinine  and  other 
attractive  condiments.  Likewise,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  he  frequently  anointed 
the  young  of  the  species  with  a  mixture  of 
mutton  suet  and  asafetida.  This  treatment 
had  an  effect  that  was  distinctly  depressing 
upon  the  growing  boy.  It  militated  against 
his  popularity.  It  forced  him  to  seek  his 
pleasures  outdoors,  and  a  good  distance 
outdoors  at  that. 

It  was  very  hard  for  a  boy,  however 
naturally  attractive  he  might  be,  to  retain 
his  popularity  at  the  fireside  circle  when 
coated  with  mutton  suet  and  asafetida  and 
then  taken  into  a  warm  room.  He  attracted 
attention  which  he  did  not  court  and  which 
was  distasteful  to  him.  Keeping  quiet  did 
not  seem  to  help  him  any.  Even  if  they 
had  been  blindfolded  others  would  still 
have  felt  his  presence.  A  civit-cat  suffers 
from  the  same  drawbacks  in  a  social  way, 
but  the  advantage  to  the  civit-cat  is  that 
as  a  general  thing  it  associates  only  with 
other  civit-cats. 

Except  in  the  country  the  old-time,  catch- 
as-catch-can  general  practitioner  appears  to 

[55] 


^Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

be  dying  out.  In  the  city  one  finds  him  oc 
casionally,  playing  a  limit  game  in  an  office 
on  a  back  street — two  dollars  to  come  in, 
five  to  call;  but  the  tendency  of  the  day  is 
toward  specialists.  Hence  the  expert  who 
treats  you  for  just  one  particular  thing. 
With  a  pain  in  your  chest,  say,  you  go  to 
a  chest  specialist.  So  long  as  he  can  keep 
the  trouble  confined  to  your  chest,  all  well 
and  good.  If  it  slips  down  or  slides  up 
he  tries  to  coax  it  back  to  the  reservation. 
If  it  refuses  to  do  so,  he  bids  it  an  affection 
ate  adieu,  makes  a  dotted  mark  on  you  to 
show  where  he  left  off,  collects  his  bill  and 
regretfully  turns  you  over  to  a  stomach 
specialist  or  a  throat  specialist,  depending 
on  the  direction  in  which  the  trouble  was 
headed  when  last  seen. 

Or,  perhaps  the  specialist  to  whom  you 
take  your  custom  is  an  advocate  of  an  im 
mediate  operation  for  such  cases  as  yours 
and  all  others.  I  may  be  unduly  sensitive 
on  account  of  having  recently  emerged 
from  the  surgeon's  hands,  but  it  strikes  me 
now  that  there  are  an  awful  lot  of  doctors 
who  take  one  brief  glance  at  a  person  who 
is  complaining,  and  say  to  themselves  that 

F56] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — 5 

here  is  something  that  ought  to  be  looked 
into  right  away — and  immediately  open  a 
bag  and  start  picking  out  the  proper  utensils. 
You  go  into  a  doctor's  office  and  tell  him 
you  do  not  feel  the  best  in  the  world — and 
he  gives  you  a  look  and  excuses  himself, 
and  steps  into  the  next  room  and  begins 
greasing  a  saw. 

Mind  you,  in  these  casual  observations 
as  compiled  by  me  while  bedfast  and  here 
given  utterance,  I  am  not  seeking  to  dis 
parage  possibly  the  noblest  of  professions. 
Lately  I  have  owed  much  to  it.  I  am 
strictly  on  the  doctor's  side.  He  is  with  us 
when  we  come  into  the  world  and  with  us 
when  we  go  out  of  it,  oftentimes  lending  a 
helping  hand  on  both  occasions.  Anyway, 
our  sympathies  should  especially  go  out  to 
the  medical  profession  at  this  particular 
time  when  the  anti-vivisectionists  are  railing 
so  loudly  against  the  doctors.  The  anti- 
vivisection  crusade  has  enlisted  widely  dif 
ferent  classes  in  the  community,  including 
many  lovers  of  our  dumb-animal  pets — 
and  aren't  some  of  them  the  dumbest  things 
you  ever  saw! — especially  chow  dogs  and 
love  birds. 

[57] 


^Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

I  will  admit  there  is  something  to  be  said 
on  both  sides  of  the  argument.  This  dis 
secting  of  live  subjects  may  have  been 
carried  to  extremes  on  occasions.  When  I 
read  in  the  medical  journals  that  the  emin 
ent  Doctor  Somebody  succeeded  in  trans 
ferring  the  interior  department  of  a  peli 
can  to  a  pointer  pup,  and  vice  versa,  with 
such  success  that  the  pup  drowned  while 
diving  for  minnows,  and  the  pelican  went 
out  in  the  back  yard  and  barked  himself 
to  death  baying  at  the  moon,  I  am  in 
terested  naturally;  but,  possibly  because  of 
my  ignorance,  I  fail  to  see  wherein  the 
treatment  of  infantile  paralysis  has  been 
materially  advanced.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  would  rather  the  kind  and  gentle  Belgian 
hare  should  be  offered  up  as  a  sacrifice 
upon  the  operating  table  and  leave  behind 
him  a  large  family  of  little  Belgian  heirs 
and  heiresses — dependent  upon  the  charity 
of  a  cruel  world — than  that  I  should  have 
something  painful  which  can  be  avoided 
through  making  him  a  martyr.  I  would 
rather  any  white  rabbit  on  earth  should 
have  the  Asiatic  cholera  twice  than  that 
I  should  have  it  just  once.  These  are  my 

[58J 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — 5 

sincere  convictions,  and  I  will  not  attempt 
to  disguise  them. 

Thanks  too,  to  medical  science  we  know 
about  germs  and  serums  and  diets  and  all 
that.  Our  less  fortunate  ancestors  didn't 
know  about  them.  They  were  befogged  in 
ignorance.  As  recently  as  the  generation 
immediately  preceding  ours  people  were 
unacquainted  with  the  simplest  rules  of 
hygiene.  They  didn't  care  whether  the 
housefly  wiped  his  feet  before  he  came  into 
the  house  or  not.  The  gentleman  with  the 
drooping,  cream-separator  mustache  was 
at  perfect  liberty  to  use  the  common  drink 
ing  cup  on  the  railroad  train.  The  ap 
pendix  lurked  in  its  snug  retreat,  undis 
turbed  by  the  prying  fingers  of  curiosity. 
The  fever-bearing  skeeter  buzzed  and 
flitted,  stinging  where  he  pleased.  The 
germ  theory  was  unfathomed.  Suitable 
food  for  an  invalid  was  anything  the  in 
valid  could  afford  to  buy.  Fresh  air,  and 
more  especially  fresh  night  air,  was  re" 
garded  as  dangerous,  and  people  hermet 
ically  sealed  themselves  in  before  retiring. 
Not  daily  as  at  present  was  the  world  glad 
dened  by  the  tidings  that  science  had  un- 

[59] 


Speaking  of  Operations 


earthed  some  new  and  particularly  unpleas 
ant  disease.  It  never  occurred  to  a  mother 
that  she  should  sterilize  the  slipper  before 
spanking  her  offspring.  Babies  were  not 
reared  antiseptically,  but  just  so.  Nobody 
was  aware  of  microbes. 

In  short,  our  sires  and  our  grandsires 
abode  in  the  midst  of  perils.  They  were 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  things  that  are 
immediately  fatal  to  the  human  system. 
Not  a  single  one  of  them  had  a  right  to 
pass  his  second  birthday.  In  the  light  of 
what  we  know,  we  realize  that  by  now  this 
world  should  be  but  a  barren  waste,  dotted 
at  frequent  intervals  with  large  graveyards 
and  populated  only  by  a  few  dispossessed 
and  hungry  bacteria,  hanging  over  the 
cemetery  fence  singing:  Driven  From 
Home! 

In  the  conditions  generally  prevalent  up 
to  twenty-five  years  ago,  most  of  us  never 
had  any  license,  really,  to  be  born  at  all. 
Yet  look  how  many  of  us  are  now  here. 
In  this  age  of  research  I  hesitate  to  attempt 
to  account  for  it,  except  on  the  entirely  un 
scientific  theory  that  what  you  don't  know 
doesn't  hurt  you.  Doubtless  a  physician 
[60] 


"Speaking  of  Operations — ' 

could  give  you  a  better  explanation,  but  his 
would  cost  you  more  than  mine  has. 

But  we  digress.  Let  us  get  back  to  our 
main  subject,  which  is  myself.  I  shall 
never  forget  my  first  real  meal  in  that  hos 
pital.  There  was  quite  a  good  deal  of  talk 
about  it  beforehand.  My  nurse  kept  tell 
ing  me  that  on  the  next  day  the  doctor  had 
promised  I  might  have  something  to  eat. 
I  could  hardly  wait.  I  had  visions  of  a 
tenderloin  steak  smothered  in  fried  onions, 
and  some  French-fried  potatoes,  and  a  tall 
table-limit  stack  of  wheat  cakes,  and  a  few 
other  incidental  comfits  and  kickshaws.  I 
could  hardly  wait  for  that  meal. 

The  next  day  came  and  she  brought  it 
to  me,  and  I  partook  thereof.  It  was  the 
white  of  an  egg.  For  dessert  I  licked  a 
stamp;  but  this  I  did  clandestinely  and 
by  stealth,  without  saying  anything  about 
it  to  her.  I  was  not  supposed  to  have  any 
sweets. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  next  feast  the 
diet  was  varied.  I  had  a  sip  of  one  of  those 
fermented  milk  products.  You  probably 
know  the  sort  of  thing  I  mean.  Even  be 
fore  you've  swallowed  it,  it  tastes  as  though 

[611 


Speaking  of  Operations — 9  9 

it  had  already  disagreed  with  you.  The 
nurse  said  this  food  was  predigested  but 
did  not  tell  me  by  whom.  Nor  did  I  ask 
her.  I  started  to,  but  thought  better  of 
it.  Sometimes  one  is  all  the  happier  for 
not  knowing  too  much. 

A  little  later  on,  seeing  that  I  had  not 
suffered  an  attack  of  indigestion  from  this 
debauch,  they  gave  me-junket.  In  the  dic 
tionary  I  have  looked  up  the  definitions 
of  junket.  I  quote : 

JUNKET,  v.  1. 1.  To  entertain  by  feasting; 
regale.  II.  /.  To  give  or  take  part  in  an 
entertainment  or  excursion;  feast  in  com 
pany;  picnic;  revel. 

JUNKET,  n.  A  merry  feast  or  excursion; 
picnic. 

When  the  author  of  a  dictionary  tries 
to  be  frivolous  he  only  succeeds  in  making 
himself  appear  foolish. 

I  know  not  how  it  may  be  in  the  world 
at  large,  but  in  a  hospital,  junket  is  a  cus 
tard  that  by  some  subtle  process  has  been 
denuded  of  those  ingredients  which  make 
a  custard  fascinating  and  exciting.  It  tastes 
as  though  the  eggs,  which  form  its  under 
lying  basis,  had  been  laid  in  a  fit  of  pique 

[62] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — 5  5 

by  a  hen  that  was  severely  upset  at  the  time. 

Hereafter  when  the  junket  is  passed 
round  somebody  else  may  have  my  share. 
I'll  stick  to  the  mince  pie  a  la  mode. 

And  the  first  cigar  of  my  convalescence 
— ah,  that,  too,  abides  as  a  vivid  memory  I 
Dropping  in  one  morning  to  replace  the 
wrappings  Doctor  Z  said  I  might  smoke 
in  moderation.  So  the  nurse  brought  me 
a  cigar,  and  I  lit  it  and  took  one  deep 
puff;  but  only  one.  I  laid  it  aside.  I  said 
to  the  nurse: 

"A  mistake  has  been  made  here.  I  do 
not  want  a  cooking  cigar,  you  understand. 
I  desire  a  cigar  for  personal  use.  This  one 
is  full  of  herbs  and  simples,  I  think.  It 
suggests  a  New  England  boiled  dinner,  and 
not  a  very  good  New  England  boiled  din 
ner  at  that.  Let  us  try  again." 

She  brought  another  cigar.  It  was  not 
satisfactory  either  Then  she  showed  me 
the  box — an  orthodox  box  containing  cigars 
of  a  recognized  and  previously  dependable 
brand.  I  could  only  conclude  that  a  root- 
and-herb  doctor  had  bought  an  interest  in 
the  business  and  was  introducing  his  own 
pet  notions  into  the  formula. 

[63] 


' '  Speaking  of  Operations — 9 ' 

But  c#me  a  day — as  the  fancy  writers  say 
when  they  wish  to  convey  the  impression 
that  a  day  has  come,  but  hate  to  do  it  in 
a  commonplace  manner — came  a  day  when 
my  cigar  tasted  as  a  cigar  should  taste  and 
food  had  the  proper  relish  to  it;  and  my 
appetite  came  back  again  and  found  the 
old  home  place  not  so  greatly  changed 
after  all. 

And  then  shortly  thereafter  came  another 
day,  when  I,  all  replete  with  expensive 
stitches,  might  drape  the  customary  habili 
ments  of  civilization  about  my  attenuated 
frame  and  go  forth  to  mingle  with  my  fel 
low  beings.  I  have  been  mingling  pretty 
steadily  ever  since,  for  now  I  have  some 
thing  to  talk  about — a  topic  good  for  any 
company;  congenial,  an  absorbing  topic. 

I  can  spot  a  brother  member  a  block 
away.  I  hasten  up  to  him  and  give  him 
the  grand  hailing  sign  of  the  order.  He 
opens  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  I  beat  him 
to  it. 

"Speaking  of  operations  "  I  say. 

And  then  I'm  off. 

Believe  me,  it's  the  life  I 

[64] 


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